


One King to Another

by Yaoiflame9



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Thorinduil - Freeform, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaoiflame9/pseuds/Yaoiflame9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the other Elves are celebrating the victory over Orcs, in the Battle of the Five Armies, the Elvenking reminisces about his time with Thorin, and reflects upon the situations where he wronged him. Little does he know that he has a listener. Warning: Male on Male (slash) content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One King to Another

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! Upon watching all three The Hobbit movies, I was instantly enraptured by Lee Pace’s rendition of Thranduil’s appearance and character, as well as Thorin Oakenshield’s, by Richard Armitage. I thought they would go well as a couple, so I wrote this story wishing to make my point of view on their relationship. My sources were various: the book, the movies, one cut scene from the first movie, and Silmarillion. It took me over ten hours to finish it, proof read it, and similar things. This story would have not come into existence without some crucial facts and encouragement from my friend Kathy, so special thanks to her. I hope my efforts were not in vain and that you would enjoy it! As always, feedback is much appreciated.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except for this story.  
> Warning: Do not copy or share this story without asking me for permission first.  
> Rating: Mature  
> Genre: Romance, Angst  
> Type: One chapter story

One King to Another 

The upper halls were brimming with Elves who were celebrating the victory over Orcs, astonishing emerald gems they had obtained from the war put on display for admiration. Down below, where was pleasantly quiet, a tall, graceful figure of their king was slowly, tiredly, but surely walking towards his throne; his long, shimmering coat dragging behind his feet. In one hand he held Orcrist, in the other, a large flagon of strong red wine and a cup. It appeared that in this hour, the Elvenking preferred solitude over his kin’s celebration. 

A bit lower, near the dungeons, another Elf had escaped from the party, to reminisce and mourn. Tauriel was sitting on the stairs next to the cell that once, for a short period of time, belonged to the now departed Kili. Up above her she heard slow, firm steps, and a quiet sigh. Little did she know that she was about to hear a story, in which she, too, was briefly mentioned, in a semi-monolog held by her King.  
“Thorin,” began Thranduil, having seated himself in his throne, his back resting partly on the armrest of his chair, partly on the back of it, his legs dangling over the other armrest, Orcrist’s hilt leaning against his shoulder, and a fine blade resting beside him; the flagon was leaning against his lap, and his hands were gripping the cup, which was stationed where his navel would be. “A great warrior, a great personality, even before he had acquired the name Oakenshield. Oakenshield, the name that in itself is adorned in grandeur. In combination, Thorin Oakenshield... it reverberates powerfully, the sound of glory and great many deeds. It is a fearful name, it is a name that awakens respect, and he was the rightful owner of it.” He smirked at the thought, sipping a bit out of his cup. “Surely a stubborn Dwarf as all Dwarves are; proud, vain, but nevertheless, a man of honor. Even in his direst hours, even in his brief madness, he was to be respected, his reasons justified to a certain extent, his name never marred...”

He turned his head briefly towards the Orcrist, pretending it was a living creature and the hilt was his head, addressing him, “Your owner and I met a long, long time ago, in the vast city fortress of Erebor, where many riches lay and lands beyond it were the epitome of prosperity. I came there to pay respect to the people of that great kingdom, to its king, Thror, prince Thrain, and his young son, Thorin. I remember, approaching the throne of Erebor, the magnificent Arkenstone embedded in it, over the King’s head. When I, with several of my royal escorts crossed the narrow bridge that separated us, I faced the three of them and in the back, many, many others. To Thror’s left was his son, and to his right, the son of his son. The old dwarf had some peculiar ornaments in his beard, the Prince was having many a gray hair in his beard and hair, while Thorin was still young and strong, adorned in royal blue robes, his hair and beard black, thick and immaculate. Erebor was the greatest kingdom of Middle Earth back then, so great that even us, Elves, who usually keep things to ourselves and do not socialize, came there to pay homage...”

The Elvenking took a sip of his wine, shifted in his seat, glistening gray eyes looking somewhere up front, somewhere that now represented the past, and was reading from it. He said, “Now, there are things that you cannot find in the books; the historians never wrote about it, claiming the one fact as the absolute truth and ignoring the exception; Elves and Dwarves have always been vary of each other, but our two kingdoms met with some merry times. As the token of our outstanding friendship and respect, they built the living chambers for me and my escort, and I, in my kingdom, built the same, to their liking. Small rooms, beds adjusted to their height and size, beautiful fabrics, colors, scents, all of it chosen for our good neighbors. It was not rare an occasion that Legolas and I would spend some time there, and their King and princes with us; our diplomacy was measured in the barrels of wine one could drink, in the amount of food one could eat, and we held contests who sang and danced better...”

“...Those were the times to remember, and I remember them for my friendship with Thorin...It started tentatively, since he was a slave of prejudices, and being distrustful of Elves was, perhaps, something he had been born with. There was this big ball where I approached him, and tried to make him indulge in any kind of conversation with me...How should I explain it? We always talked about formal, political matters; we had many a conversation before. But his eyes held some striking beauty, his features in entirety representing pure rawness of it, a part of his charm that resembled high-class wilderness. I knew very well that he was a person who could both wield a sword or an axe, and wear a crown, and indulge in mining labor as the rest of his people. He could be anything. I took some time to analyze him since I found his appearance and character intriguing to some extent. In plain words, I wanted to know him better. I suppose that is how all things begin and I was no exception...” 

***

Thorin saw the Elvenking from the distance, making a beeline in his direction. His spring crown was delicately embracing the contours of his head and cheekbones; magnificent, he was obliged to admit to himself, white twigs and fresh, eternally green leaves entwined to make a crown of elegant, sharp edges. His walk was slow and refined, robes long and silvery; he was tall, graceful, but at the same time manly. Just by looking at him and his people, everybody would gasp in awe; the beauty of the Firstborn of Children of Iluvatar was unprecedented. He had no particular attitude towards having a conversation with him, but he expected nothing that could be interesting, and expected just a small talk. As the son of the next heir to the throne, he had to show great amounts of respect and he tried to smile, locking eyes with his guest and bowing gently in his direction.  
“My great King Thranduil, I hope you are having a good time here in Erebor. I hope the party did not tire you out.” He said.

“I am afraid it did not, since I did not participate in any form of dancing, thank you for asking. But I have to admit the empty conversations did take some toll on me.” Thranduil said, eyes glistening as always, wide open and scrutinizing. Thorin smirked and looked him in the eye.

“Well, I suppose this one is a bit on an empty side as well, do you not think so?” Partly this was because the company of such an intense man at that moment did not suit him. But most of the time, he was feeling indifferent. Thranduil smiled lightly.

“I should have been more specific, then. I meant politics...”

“If a king deems conversations of political nature empty, what kind of king is he?” Asked Thorin, teasingly. He wanted to see his arrogant stance once again, the one he always had, but, to his surprise, Thranduil smiled widely, his teeth as the rest of him immaculate, and returned.

“That is a good question, Thorin, son of Thrain!” He remarked. “A good one, indeed. But perhaps this empty conversation suits me better...to change the pace.” His diction and voice were like a soft melody, and the words kept leaking out of his mouth like a fine stream. “But somehow, did you not find it a tad philosophical rather than empty and tedious just then?” To this, Thorin slightly smiled and in return for this witty conversation, offered a stroll through the big halls of his kingdom, but Thranduil politely declined. “I am afraid I feel a bit tired, so I would rather withdraw for the night. My kingdom has no gardens, just caves and tall trees that hide the sunlight, and, seeing as Erebor is a fortress city, I presume neither do yours have. So, instead, you could show me the mines, if you will. And I will show you the stars.” His enigmatic offer was accepted. The next day, Thorin took him deep into the heart of the mountain, to show him the mines.

***  
“...And mines I saw,” continued he. “Deep wells of light, not dark, for there were gems and gold everywhere. Myriad of colors, myriad of nuances, but in much bigger quantities, gold in its most perfect shine. The heart of Erebor, the heart of welfare and power. Thorin took me to various places; I saw how they make big golden statues, how they forge coins, how they make the most delicate of bracelets, necklaces, earrings...” Another sip of wine. “Engrossed in those beauties, I pondered how marvelous it must feel to be the creator of something so beautiful, to help them come into existence, those shapes, those colors, everything so exquisite one might feel a bit of vertigo at the sight. At that moment, I wanted to be the part of it, to create something, for it felt like creating life itself. Thorin let out a hearty laugh then, but then remembered he was in the presence of the much awed Elvenking and quickly composed himself. It was a puzzling sight to behold, but a tad endearing. ‘Why do you laugh?’ I asked. ‘I have fought in wars, won battles, got dirty beyond measure, smeared with the blood of my enemies. I am not afraid to dirty my robes again, nor do I harbor any kind of aversion to a bit of labor.’ He was perplexed, I could tell, but he let me have my way. “ Thranduil smiled at this, a rare treat to the beholder’s eyes, but there was nobody that could see him. There was only Tauriel, who had never heard her King speak of anyone for so long and in such detail and emotion. She continued to listen carefully, clutched on the stairs, her woes left for a better time. The King took a little bit of wine, having drunk almost a third of his flagon by then.

“I took off my coat and put it aside, rolled up the sleeves of my tunic, looking at him and expecting to be given any task that he could muster. ‘Very well then,’ he said, still a bit confused, but entertained nevertheless, and took out a hot rod that should be shaped into something. ‘This is supposed to be a small dagger, the one which requires one to two laborers to make, since I presume you do not wish for anyone to know that you were here.’ He said. ‘That is correct,’ said I and took the hammer, while he held the hot mass against the anvil. I swung the hammer and hit, trying to be as precise as I could, hit and swung, hit and swung, swung so well to show him I was no petty king in search of an adventure amongst the common folk. He corrected me two or three times, but in two hours, the first and the last dagger of my making came into existence. Far from being perfect in shape and balance, it was still interesting and exhilarating to see something like this of my creation. It was hot there in the mines, and I was feeling hot and sweaty from all the labor, but nevertheless strangely happy and calm. We smiled at each other and I felt he had accepted me at some firmer level...”

“...And that was when I saw it. ‘For your hard day’s work, I think you need to be rewarded,’ Thorin said, sweaty from the heat himself. He was not telling anything, but his eyes were vivid and carrying an expression that was conveying that I was about to see something of great importance or beauty. And indeed I saw it, for the first time, the root of my misfortune in the years to come. He took me to a place where they were refining the gems, and on one desk, amongst the multitude of unrefined white gems, lay a necklace of the same kind, beautiful beyond imagination. ‘What do you think of this?’ He asked proudly and all I could feel was that I was mesmerized and I could not tell anything. I was, presently, transfixed with great pain in my chest, for the very thought I had when I saw the necklace, which looked as if it had been made from the pure starlight itself, was that I wanted to bestow this upon the neck of my wife...Who had been long gone from this world and whom I mourn to this day. It had been horrifying, her death had left a gaping, odorous, hideous wound in my heart that did nothing else but pulsate with horrifying pain each and every day since she had been gone. It is a well known fact that Elves marry out of love and for life. Her death had demolished the walls of my inner fortress, burned my cities, and tore me apart, and made a huge rift between my son Legolas and I. But I still wanted the necklace, with such greed I was barely containing myself...”

“...I wanted it so much that I already claimed it as a family heirloom in my mind. ‘It is indeed exceptional’, I gasped, and Thorin nodded proudly with a broad smile on his dwarvishly handsome face. We returned to the surface and sometime later, I forgot about it.” Thranduil’s eyes were shinier than usual, he appeared mesmerized as if the object itself was before his eyes. He drank a large sip of his wine and hugged Orcrist a bit firmer. 

“...Ever since then, Thorin and I spent more time together, taking walks, playing chess, reading books...He started reading books just to keep me company. He was not accustomed to reading them, but began reading one after another of my choosing, in deep endeavor not to say mere: ‘I liked this one, but did not that one’, but to explain for what reason he found them amusing, tragic, or humorous. Soon after, we had many topics to talk about, many things to laugh about, and day trips to take to the pastures that lay a bit further away...” He made a long, significant pause, a reminiscent, but discreet smile on his face, eyes still looking in the distance. He slightly nodded his head in some sort of acknowledgment. “And the stars I showed him...” 

*** 

During the next Thorin’s visit to Mirkwood, Thranduil sought him out during one clear night and took him to a chamber with the glass roof, where they harvested the light of the stars. “This is the sight,” he told him, “you can never see from where you live, nor from anywhere else in the whole of Middle Earth. Behold the beauty of Elbereth’s creation, the vast space of light for us to harvest and relish in it; the one true and purest light. “He proudly motioned to the countless stars that could be seen; there were so many that the sky was almost white. Thorin stood next to him, bathed in it, mesmerized indeed by what he saw, his eyes wide open, all sleepiness gone. “I know it is no gems or gold, and that my kin did not make such beauty, but this is something we value above all.” The King added.  
“It is, in all truth, more than anything, more important and sacred than our entire world, Thranduil. And I am thankful to you for sharing this with me,” said Thorin, while the King found himself to be mesmerized not by stars, but by his guest. It was as if this light revealed another layer to the Dwarf’s natural beauty, as if he were completely reborn. It appeared to the Elvenking that that moment was significant and that it would leave a mark in the young prince’s heart. It apprared as if the light was pouring something into his guest, some magnificence and radiance that he was more than interested in. That was when he discovered, to his surprise, the nature of his curiosity in Thorin. 

***  
“I was a widower for many years. And the wound in my heart left by her death was ugly and unyielding. I thought at first that perhaps I was feeling lonelier than usual and that I was seeking company of that sort. But with another male...Let alone with another Dwarf, the very idea of it left me flabbergasted. I thought that I was unconsciously looking for someone who could help me close that ugly hole. In the end, I realized, nobody could be able to accomplish such a task. But I am getting ahead of myself....”

“...You should have seen him that night, the night I realized I wanted him. Tender rays of moonlight glazing over his long, dark hair, illuminating his face, his lips open, his eyes in mesmeric trance, him in endeavor to comprehend the beauty of conception, and decipher the secret of everything. Of course, those were just my impressions. But the idea of it made him stand out from the rest; the mind so sharp, the mind so open, honest, his eyes and stature, and my heart was beating in fervor. I could not avert my eyes from him; he was absorbing the beauty of the sky, and I of him...” Tauriel wrapped the arms around herself tighter; the voice of her King tenderly filling the space with elegant echoes, his description of Kili’s uncle breathtaking and woven so nicely she was shivering. She detected a tone of nostalgia in his voice and gentle love he was harboring for the deceased king of Erebor. She did feel surprised by Thranduil’s talk and revealed inclinations, but his sad voice lulled her into believing it was something very common among their kin. Moreover, it helped her justify her feelings for Kili. 

“...And like a horridly heavy secret it lay upon my heart and was growing. Several seasons passed in such torment, until, naturally, I found it duly unbearable. I decided I would confess, and, if rejected, ask for my confession to be forgotten and the relationship between our kingdoms unharmed.” Two thirds of Thranduil’s most prized wine was gone by then. He threw his head back and let out a throaty laugh. “But how could I tell him? What words would I use? I kept posing myself such questions over and over again until I found such wondering futile and my heart nervously beating in my chest. I was surely in love with Thorin Oakenshield by that time, I think I loved him even. I never told him so but I made sure he knew it, when the time came for us to begin our story...”

“...I was wondering what other methods were at my disposal? Here I was sitting in his kingdom, but my living chambers, making conversation, playing chess, and longing for him while he, in all his unawareness, was wrinkling the skin around his eyes with every smile, showing his white rows of strong teeth I admired so much. I loved listening to his voice, I could almost taste honey in the thickness of sound, but it was still deep, fluid, everlasting...A deep voice of the future king, eyes bright and dark, hands of a laborer, no jewels, but still, those hands were the hands of a noble without a doubt. He was a pleasant contradiction to behold...”

“..Before I knew what came over me, on one such occasion when we were playing chess, my body, set in motion by invisible forces of desperate longing, leaned over the table and I captured his lips so easily, in a blink of an eye. I caught him while he was beginning to smile...I...to my utter surprise...I kissed him.” 

***

Overcome by his long lasting torture, Thranduil leaned over the chess table, hands supporting him, and kissed the heir to the throne of Erebor. It came naturally to him to shut the world out and savor the little taste he could feel, frowning in his endeavors to take as much as he could of Thorin. The Dwarf sat there in utter shock and waited until the Elf finished with him and, shocked himself, sat back in his chair to compose himself. His thick black eyebrows raised in confusion, face paler instead of redder, lips open to say anything that could justify what he had just done. Thorin was piercing him with his gaze, already collected and calm. He was looking at the man who had just kissed him in silent, stern wonder, demanding a thorough explanation for this sudden outburst. A heavy silence fell upon the room, but then was broken by the deep, elegant tones of the Elvenking. 

“I am asking of you to think about this.” 

“About what, exactly?” Asked Thorin vigorously, averting his eyes.  
“The prospect of...” Thranduil started, but was cut off. 

“I was giving you a chance to say nothing, and forget about what you had just done.” Thorin sharply retorted.

“Why would I do that? I stand behind everything I say and do. If you ask for the meaning of this kiss, then it is evident that I feel certain attraction toward you, do you not think so?” Thranduil was trying to be as concise and elaborate as he could. 

“Two males...An Elf and a Dwarf, no less!” Thorin stood up, rising his tone as well, now angry. “What were you thinking?! Could you not find anything better or different to do in your spare time?” 

“I suppose even us, Elves, with the infinite lifespan can after so much time discover new things about ourselves. We marry out of love and for life. I was in luck that the exact same fate struck me and gave me my heir. I was less fortunate by losing that love. It will never fade away, despite my sincerest wishes, and I will be scarred for the rest of my immortal life. Two people of the same gender, yes, a bit strange, but I found myself feeling attracted to a personality rather than their sex.” His tone was raised, words carefully chosen but said in anger and disappointment. 

Thorin was looking intensely at him for a moment, taking in his words that had, even just a little, made the idea of his friend kissing him less repulsing and more some sort of a food for thought. He turned around to leave, and upon leaving, he heard Thranduil address him once more. “I implore of you to think about this.” 

***

“...I was thinking myself insane and I did regret that kiss. I was afraid it would make a rift between Thorin and I. But once again the tides turned for my benefit and the next evening he appeared before the doors of my living chambers in his kingdom. I cannot number all of the emotions that were swirling inside of me, topping one another in their own little contest to show which one was the strongest in my being. Thorin’s face was grim and he looked angry. He entered my living space and closed the doors behind. Two massive, golden doors, worthy of a king such as myself, the Dwarves had said. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’ he asked. But I knew that it was not out of curiosity to try out something new, but rather to salvage this little friendship that I so conveniently disturbed by my shameful behavior. ‘For us to become lovers.’ I said insecurely, but all he noticed was my pretentiousness. He thought I was being arrogant. ‘If that is too much, then to kiss you again. If you do not like it then, I shall stop with it altogether and ask of you to forget about the whole ordeal. But if you do, I would be pleased to call myself your lover’, said I, confidently, deeming my terms fair. Thorin’s laughter echoed through the room at this. ‘Silly,’ he said, ‘I have heirs to produce, you already have yours. If you Elves value love for life and consider adultery unthinkable, how do you imagine we could continue our affair if I get married?’...”

“...His logic was in place. I was left without arguments. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. ‘Never have I thought that I would live to see the day the great King Thranduil would lack something in his judgment.’ If only he knew what was to come in the future...How many misconstrued judgments on my part. ‘You never thought this through. But I doubt that you, of all people, would risk this friendship or the good diplomatic relations with our kingdoms just out of fun. It must be serious then, coming from you.’ He concluded. ‘Then you leave me with no choice but to at least give you another try at kissing.’ So I leaned down to kiss him, but he started laughing. I tried again, and just before he could even think of laughing again, I pressed my lips firmly against his, his beard tickling and irritating my skin, but I put all my efforts into making the kiss worthy of his companionship between my sheets. I understood that, if he did enjoy the kiss, he, as well as I, would need some time to explore our interests in bed. For, it was only logical for him not to feel aroused when seeing me, since he had never before even thought of that possibility with any other male, let alone myself. That is when I told him something I told him twice during our time knowing each other, ‘I am patient. I can wait.’...”

“...And so our relationship moved slowly in accordance with the time we had, since many months could pass before he visited my kingdom or I his. Eventually, however, we joined our bodies together.”

***  
The first encounter was not as dreamy as many may presume. Thranduil was as ethereal and unreal in his beauty as always, and now deeply enamored, and Thorin was immensely nervous. There was the question of height, of whether he would get to be aroused, whether or not he could fulfill his role, since it sounded unseemly to leave the legendary Thranduil dissatisfied and lacking in anything. Both being beautiful in their own regard; Thorin could not muster what had the Elvenking found in or on him, and whether he was supposed to fall in love with the Elf, since he was indeed a sight to be cherished and desired, with his long blond hair, tall, graceful stance, mesmerizing gray eyes and proud, moderately arrogant, but cultivated, demeanor. Thranduil stood before him in his cotton robes, crownless and almost naked. What he did first was to make a small trick and make the Dwarf appear higher, with the exact same spell he now used to conceal that one disfigured side of his face. 

“Do not feel offended, I have nothing against your original height. I only thought it would be practical for the intercourse.” He said it too officially for Thorin’s liking and he was feeling nervousness budding in his intestines even more than before. Thranduil noticed his uneasiness and approached him, studying his face. The Elf frowned with concern. “Do you dislike it so much?” There was a brief, pained expression on the King’s face. 

“No.” said Thorin. “I just do not know whether I would be fitting for the task.”

“Do you not find me attractive at all?” Asked Thranduil, who now began circling around his partner. “I do not wish to be repulsive to you. Perhaps I am asking too much of you.”

“I would have told you if it were so, Thranduil, surely I would.” Thorin was reassuring him. 

“Would you not like me even after this?” He was standing before the Dwarf who was taller by the third of his original height, and stripped down the fabric that was concealing him. He was of pale complexion, tall, but muscular, his body firm and delicate, but at the same time rough and unreal; not a single hair on his body and genitals, which were of comparatively normal size when not erect. For the first time did it occur to Thorin that the Elvenking, as well, was feeling nervous. 

“Just think about your opinion of me. Imagine me in a non-carnal way if it pleases you. Just look at me.” Thranduil said gently, but there was a low purr in his voice, barely detectible. They moved onto bed, where Thorin was encouraged and reminded, for the first time, to think about his actual opinion he had of his partner. Thranduil was a beautiful king of his land, with a firm and stable rule; his people loved him and he loved them; he had a son named Legolas, who would succeed him; he was a wise ruler and wise in private, level-headed and stoic; he was arrogant in a non-arrogant way, able to talk reasonably and to win debates; his voice was warm and welcoming, or cold and ruthless, and his eyes always scrutinizing and intense. 

With those thoughts he caressed this being that sprawled out on the bed beside him, showing respect to every part of his body as much as he could, and his lover was caressing back with much more care and curiousness. To Thranduil, this was losing oneself into oblivion, to Thorin, it was a tactical game. But soon enough, he, too, was lulled into warmth and tenderness, and slowly, but surely, his lover’s caresses and teasing of his manhood made him aroused, and, to his bewilderment, this graceful king shamelessly straddled him. 

Nobody could prepare Thranduil for this much discomfort, but he was trying to endure it. Thorin was sitting on the bed, holding him close and kissing him, while he was hugging the Dwarf and frowning in an arousing, but pained way. 

“If it is uncomfortable, we should stop,” said Thorin quietly, but the King did not want to hear of it. He kept moving up and down in equal rhythms, each and every movement made with a substantial effort, sweat forming on his beautiful Elvish forehead. 

***  
“...Oh, you should have seen him when I found some sort of lubricant the next day. It was not until later that night that I realized what was lacking.” Thranduil chuckled a bit, drunk. His flagon was finally empty. Tauriel was feeling embarrassed, but nevertheless intrigued by this unique monolog of her king, spoken to the Orcrist blade and, unbeknown to the King, to her.

“...I had my share of riding Thorin Oakenshield and it felt amazing. Making love to him was the most extraordinary thing and I embraced it with my entire being. Upon not seeing each other for months on end, we would fall into each other’s arms as soon as the kingdom fell asleep, and make love with such fervor I dare not describe. He would take me in the halls of Erebor when nobody was looking; in the deep mines of the Lonely Mountain; in the fields, anyplace that gave a sense of thrill and posed comparatively no danger of being exposed. And he was falling in love with me with such speed I found my days to be brighter; I found stars in the sky despite it being overcast. Such was the feeling of the love returned. He fell in love with me, finally. I presume he was called to his senses upon stopping with the ruling out this possibility of love between us. He did it for the sake of my feelings and I knew for certain because his eyes never lied. He knew not how to lie. His eyes filled with anger and sorrow when I betrayed him were enough to confirm this...But I am yet again getting ahead of myself...”

***  
Many seasons had passed and love and passion freely bloomed between the two. Thorin was obsessed with Thranduil as much as the Elf was with him. Concealing their affair had its own difficulties, but they were putting enough effort into its efficiency, and everything was the way it was supposed to be. The young Dwarf was getting hungrier for the Elvenking’s lean body, and by many an hour invested in exploring of his likes and dislikes, he had learned to pleasure the Firstborn with the touch of his fingers, with the versatility of his tongue; he had even learned how to arouse him with the power of his words. 

Thranduil’s skin was unlike any other material, living or artificial he had ever felt against his palms. The Elf was trying to be as discreet as possible about his reactions to such stimulants, but Thorin was, nevertheless, enjoying every sigh, ever moan, however discreet and tiny they were. Thranduil knew how to give him pleasure, too. Being discreet, but still open minded and always having another new trick and move to show, he was able to elicit such intense moans from him that he was afraid someone might hear them. The Elf was obsessing over the entirety of Thorin’s body; its strength, the texture of his rough skin, his body hair, his member in particular, and most of all, his face. The sight of the Dwarf’s face twisted in delightful grimaces of pleasure, his loving eyes. 

Their care for one another was so great that Thorin asked his father to allow for the necklace to be shown publicly, upon the next visit of the Elvish delegation. This was granted, since both Thror and Thrain found it beyond satisfaction to once again boast about Erebor’s beauties and riches. Thus Thranduil faced a Dwarf before him, between him and the King under the Mountain, and that Dwarf had a small chest in his hands. Every once in a while, the pair had the custom of exchanging the, so called, ‘guilty glances’ at one another, so they gave each other a look of significance, before the chest was opened. And then, there it was, again, the pang in the Elvenking’s heart and soul, greed that made his hand reach for the necklace before the chest was rudely closed before him. He looked at Thorin once more, torn between the love for his wife, of whom he so rarely thought now, greed for the necklace, and his lover’s tender side. Thorin, not understanding this look, mistook it for the one he had always received, and sent him one of insolence, hostility, and taunt. He knew that Thranduil was fond of that one the best and was hoping for fierce lovemaking that evening. 

When the evening came and everybody was preparing for sleep, Thorin came to him as promised and was met into a warm embrace. Thranduil looked long and hard into his face, realizing, to his relief that he still loved him and longed for him, even more so than when he last saw him. But his greed had almost yanked him away from his lover, and he began to wonder endlessly. Thorin was to become a king. Thorin was to find his betrothed. And if he himself was susceptible to throwing away his love for a handful of gems, perhaps it was safer to avoid those two disasters by leaving the Prince in time. 

That night the Elf rode in his lap with all the eagerness he could muster, and continued to do so in the days to come. The one of the last ones of them was no exception. He was riding him shamelessly and skillfully, twisting his body and was becoming more eager upon hearing the words of encouragement from his lover. Thorin did not know what had possessed his beloved, but he loved it and decided not to question such a change. Thranduil was, unlike almost all previous times, being louder than usual and frantically groaning his name from time to time. 

Such was the last time they made love; Thranduil was giving himself to the throes of pleasure, lamenting the inevitable departure for months in this fashion, perversely, and was being met halfway by Thorin who would always make sure not to let the Elvenking sit properly or walk properly for many a day. The Dwarf would ejaculate hard and deep into him and the Elf would be thankful and would relish in this gift of love he had just received. It was so in this fashion until their very last time.

Thorin said, “That would be a lot of heirs not to be born, the lot inside of you.” He was being cheerful and exhausted. His lover, however, turned his tired face toward him, and solemnly began his explanations. 

“It was never a problem before. Why so abruptly? We have been together for so long I cannot even remember when it all started,” he said, his voice trembling, but still somewhat composed.

“It has to end sometime and in the least painful fashion we can manage.” Thranduil firmly decided. Another crack in his being was beginning to open, at the thought that he would be denied the privilege of Thorin’s company. For a while, they sat in silence. 

“But...I, I, Thranduil, respected you and waited for you. I respected and followed the way of your kind. I could have had all the wenches I wanted while waiting for your next visit or mine to your kingdom, but I waited. Does that mean nothing to you?” The deep voice kept trembling.

Thranduil gently closed his eyes, then reopened them. “It means everything to me. All of this. But the future of your kingdom comes first.” Thorin was looking at him in anger and bewilderment. So coldly interrupted, their love was frozen in winter winds and left to rot. He could not understand how easily the Elf threw away all that they had worked so hard to build together, and it was all for nothing. Only, it was not. And he knew better than the Elf himself that he was in the right. Despite the Elvenking’s good reasoning, something did not resonate right in the Dwarf’s heart. 

“You seduced me and got fed up with me, throwing me away on a whim.” He cursed. “Finding me wife and talking to me about heirs was just a good enough pretext for you to leave my side.”

“You came to my bed, and it was a decision you made yourself. I fairly offered you a choice and you have chosen.” Thranduil said briskly. “Was it not so? Will you tell me that I am wrong? Do you think that I would waste my time, although I have all this time in the world, with someone of different race and same sex? Elves do not spend their time foolishly.” He said proudly. 

“This all had no future to begin with! You contradict yourself!”

“Yet you too fell on deaf ears of reason and ended up in the same place where I am, with a lot less to give me than I to offer you.” It was not in his nature to speak of his feelings. It was not that he did not want to, but he was unable to. Be it the nature, a flaw, or a handicap, Thranduil kept to himself and spoke no more, revealed nothing more, and left it to reside like that, in the hands of unwritten history and time. 

“Alright”, said Thorin quietly, “It will be as you wish, then.” And they parted their ways when it came to them being lovers. 

***  
“Heartbroken I was and could only hope that it would indeed come for the better, and not be for nothing. This cruel separation. I even warned his grandfather, in whom I had also sensed the illness named greed. And then Smaug came. That was when I learned what a hypocrite I was....”

“...Upon the sight of him destroying everything, I remembered in vivid detail the slaughter where my father, Oropher, had lain his bones and where my army was almost decimated. Against the dragon, we were powerless. And despite Thorin’s desperate plea for help—he was rushing toward us on foot, devastated, looking right in my direction— I heartlessly turned around and left them. And ended everything with him. I killed all the remnants of what we had. And what my kingdom had with his....”

“...Some would say my reasons for terminating our relationship as lovers was noble. But had this act served its purpose? In both cases, no. Thorin never married, not because he could not forget me— he hated me, in the least— his mind was only set upon reclaiming his homeland. And the greed did find its way to us, but much later, making the tragedy of my decision and our separation the greatest irony I have ever seen....”

“...I closed myself to everything and everyone in my endeavors to forget about him. To forget about his tormented face and my leaving him in the times of need. But I did not want to lead my men into certain death. I love all of my kind, love them equally and unconditionally, and that was the sole reason I did not want to lose them again. But there was another irony to it...”

“...Upon capturing the company that wandered into my realm, I failed to notice the nobility of Thorin’s quest, his beauty with sporadic strands of gray hair, his weather beaten face, his change in personality. All I asked of him was to give me the necklace, in exchange for my aid and the life of my soldiers. I am certain that the only thought and grudge in his mind and heart was my leaving his people to be exiled, no trace of what we once used to be, even as just the closest of friends, could be found. He told me, ‘I would not trust Thranduil, the great King, to only his word. Till the end of all days be upon us!’, shocking me from my greed-induced state. “You, lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends! We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help. But you turned your back! You, turned away  
from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!’. His face was desperate and anguished, his tone of voice reverberating with long kept anger and contempt. And I, though immensely shaken to hear the absolute and undeniable, cruel truth, sent him back to the dungeon, telling him to rot, no less, instead of explaining to him now when I was finally able to see him, why I turned away. I knew it was not a reason enough, but that would have been better than nothing...” The Elvenking’s voice was slightly trembling, as he was finally able to confront himself about many an issue. 

“...And there I came, with the aid for the people of Lake Town, when the dragon had been killed, to redeem my sins if by a little, when I had not sent anything to relieve the pain and suffering of Thorin’s people back in the day. But I sent my soldiers, my kin, to the war for a necklace. For such a trifle compared to the great many lives I was able to sacrifice for it. And even then, when the brave Dwarvish army came to face the Orcs and Wargs by itself, I was still reluctant to join them. Finally deciding to do so was probably an unnecessary, but noble sacrifice on my part. Not for my people, however. And thus I got to relive my losses once more....”

“...That battle was life-changing. I am certain many of us had something we wanted to redeem. People can talk ill of Thorin, but his greed was for his people for he not once said ‘mine’, but ‘ours’. For ones who hadn’t had their home for a century, it is reasonable to want all of it and share nothing. He simply wanted to protect his kind, and their honor, from the likes of us. And I selfishly led my army into demise for a mere necklace, for a woman who was long gone...”

“...Thorin went up the Ravenhill to defeat Azog and he succeeded, but for the price of his life. His nephews suffered the same fate. And I, I, for once, went into battle, as fierce as I could be and cut through the meat of vile Orcs and disappeared in the heat of the battle...”

“...In the aftermath, I allowed the terror to creep up my body, and watched in horror the dead bodies of Men, Dwarves, and my Elves. We had won the battle, at the cost of many lives. I watched in horror and my being was tearing apart for every Elven soldier I came across. A hundred years to become an adult, that is how much it takes an Elf to fully grow. And centuries of wisdom to conquer, and they had all been very young...”

“...I stumbled upon my estranged son Legolas and tried to mend the break with him, but could not, for it was neither time, nor place...And then I saw Tauriel and one of Thorin’s nephews....And how she lamented his death. The love that never came...It was only then that I unlocked all of my memories of Thorin and I and, after acknowledging her love for the young Dwarf, I rushed to the top to look for him, only to find the Hobbit, the other Dwarves, and Mithrandir, bowing to the dead King under the Mountain...”

***  
Everybody looked at him when he appeared. Almost all the Dwarves judged him for many things, as much as they were judging their King for not coming to his senses earlier. The Elvenking insecurely stood there, eyes widened in horror and fixed upon Thorin’s dead body on the ice. As he was trying to hide the tremors of his hands beneath his cloak, he barely visibly, but still hesitantly made a step toward the group. The air was overfilled with tension and hostility, so intense that one felt they could burst at any given moment. Gandalf the Gray, who was sitting next to Bilbo, stood and bowed before the King of Mirkwood. Again that look of anguish and terror, thought Gandalf. It had always been loss after loss for the beautiful King of Mirkwood. Thranduil’s devastated eyes met with Mithrandir’s, and the wizard told the company to leave the two alone, which they did, but with much reluctance and grumbling. 

Instead of bowing to his corpse in respect, as one king to another, Thranduil approached him slowly and kneeled beside him, taking him in his arms and began weeping in his shoulder. He wept soundlessly and hard, for his best friend, his lover, and his fellow king, had died in battle. Another hole was beginning to open up, just as poisonous, just as painful as the previous one. Now he had two, inflicted by his wife, and now by Thorin Oakenshield, placed side by side. He wept so hard his abdominal muscles hurt and he was fighting for air. Even when the tears stopped flowing, he was weeping without them, sighs of despair coming in short puffs. He was smelling the long hair of Thorin, the smell of blood and sweat and scent unique to him, combined. His body was rigid and cold; they had closed his eyes before he came.

Gandalf, the shrewd wanderer understood before anyone ever would and kept their secret without them knowing he knew about them. He was putting his best effort into calming the curious and agitated Dwarves. He was aware that nobody needed to see the great King Thranduil in such a state of weakness, and he was adamant about preserving the honor of the two, and respecting their last moment alone. 

Thranduil wept long and hard, holding Thorin firmly and as close as he could to himself, cursing his immortal nature and wondering how long he would be forced to live in that torture.

Mithrandir told Bilbo, when they were, days later, offered to be guests in Thranduil’s home, to decline the offer, for he knew that the King perhaps wanted to be left alone in his grief. 

***  
“...The long horn sounded our victory. The victory of Men, Dwarves, and Elves. But that sound was so long and sad, and I believe nobody had any feeling that we had been victorious that day. Mithrandir’s hand touched my shoulder and he told me, in that knowing voice of his, that it was time I went home. That man, that all-knowing wizard...There was something about him so unsettling. He was a meddler, but for better or for worse, he was the one who would always set people in motion to defend themselves from any great threats that were lurking from the darkness. I let go of Thorin and gathered the voice to tell the wizard to keep the bodies of the three Dwarves in the ice, and that I would make sure to organize them a funeral worthy of greatest of warriors. I did not want to be praised; I did not want to be anyone’s hero, or to make anyone think anything about me, good or bad. I told him not to tell anyone and to make everything as secretive as possible, and he promised me. I watched the funeral from afar. Many people came from all of the Middle Earth...”

“...’Perhaps you want to pay him respect alone.’ Mithrandir rode on his horse and stopped beside my elk. He took you out of his cloak and gave you to me. He said, ‘This is Orcrist, and it belonged to him. I thought you might want to have it.’ I accepted you and you are now here with me,” he told the Orcrist. “ ‘You took the emeralds. Why them? Why not the necklace?’, the meddler asked. ‘Because they remind me of bad things. Emeralds for the green of forests. To make the death of my kin less unnecessary, but it will never be enough’, I said, lowering my head. After a long, long pause, Mithrandir asked me something which made me wince. He asked, ‘Perhaps you wish to know what the last thing Thorin saw was before he died? His eyes were open and his empty look lost in the sky.’ I turned to look at him, shocked and curious, my chest tightening and my eyes tearing up, but I managed to contain the tears behind my eyeballs. ‘The eagles,’ he continued, ‘That was the last thing he saw. The saviors and victory.’...” the King turned his head away from Orcrist, facing the back of his chair, and closed his eyes.  
***  
Little did he know what Thorin indeed saw before he died bravely.  
What he saw was a vision of him, Thranduil, riding into battle, in allegiance with his Dwarves, gracefully riding on his elk, but mercilessly, brutally slicing up the enemy. He saw vividly his former lover, as he fervently cut through their chests, abdomens, arms, and legs. He saw a running elk, over the bridge, on his way to Dale, and Orcs pierced by the elk’s antlers, the Orcs he, Thranduil, beheaded in one swing. Then his elk was shot and he fell from it, surrounded by the enemy, but still fought and slain the scum, releasing the raw emotion of hatred. It had indeed taken place, but to Thorin, it came as a vision. He saw his former lover as he wanted him to be, in all of his elegance, fighting honorably, wildly dancing with his blades and protecting everyone and everything. He died with Thranduil redeemed in his eyes. But no one had the way of knowing. It would be much of a relief if they knew.  
***  
“...It could be the case that I was being too uptight and proud to tell him, that I could invite him to Valinor when my time comes to go there, when his son succeeds him. But he could never live forever. Who knows what lies beyond the borders of the present and the future...”

“...I remember him telling me about his cousin Dain, I remember him telling me about his sister Dis, and I liked those names. I liked how he pronounced them, thickly, with the emphasis on ‘d’. The warmth of his body was comforting, his touch much appreciated, electrifying, his eyes loyal, his voice deep and melodious. I shall remember him for his many qualities and fewer flaws. I want to remember him that way...” The Elvenking tiredly stood up from his throne and slowly headed to his chambers. Tauriel was left to sit motionless and quietly sob into her clenched fists. 

The following day, she was summoned to escort her King to the grave of Fili, Kili, and Thorin. The King, although at the first glance cold and unapproachable, had apparently arranged for her to accompany him. He was aware of her grief and offered his hand in the matter. He was a kind and good king to his people. At the end of the long journey, they stood before the graves of the people they loved, and he placed Orchrist on Thorin’s. Long they stood in silence, mourning without tears, blankly staring at the names of the three brave people, before departing for their home.


End file.
